Puzzle
by Dragon Silhouette
Summary: "The general population are calling you aliens!" In which the existence of personifications is revealed, nations are attacked, and World War III looms over the horizon... [USUK, GerIta, NiChu, Spamano, RusCan, PoLiet, and many more.]
1. The Jig's Up

**WARNINGS: YOU MUST READ THIS BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE POSTING IT IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS. If you're too lazy to read all of it, the general ideas are in bold.****  
****  
Gender-bender:** fem!Poland, fem!Japan, fem!Canada, and fem!Norway. Mainly because I want to balance the yaoi pairings with het pairings.

**Lots of poking at pairings:** USUK, GerIta, NiChu, Spamano, RusCan, PoLiet, Austria/Hungary, Denmark/Norway, Hong Kong/Taiwan, Estonia/Latvia, Sweden/Finland, and any other pairings that might come to mind.  
If you have **suggestions for any pairings that I missed**, feel free to **mention it in a review**. **Except for France.** I am a firm believer that his one and only love was Jean d'Arc. He's still going to be his lecherous self though.

Looking for **someone who wants to make a better cover** for this story. **PM me** if you're interested.

**Note: Any _italics_ you see are either thoughts, the person on the other side of a phone, or a person speaking in another language at length. **I'm sure you're all smart enough to figure out which is which.

**Lots of thanks to my beta, memoranda :)**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Jig's Up  
(or the Nine Nations and the Zombified Chinese Mob)**

* * *

"Here it is, aru," China announced proudly.

The G8 and Mexico stared at China's current pride and joy – and wow, was it awesome.

The pride and joy in discussion was a huge, five-star restaurant standing pompously in an artificial hill deep in the richest parts of Beijing. It was painted a royal red with gold linings and silver Chinese dragons decorated the pillars holding up the building. Clear glass gave four floors of diners an amazing view of Beijing from all four sides. They could see fancy dining tables with gold and silver chopsticks being used by China's wealthiest people inside the restaurant, as well as sophisticatedly-clad servers weaving gracefully in between tables. They could all smell the delicious aroma of the finest Chinese food the nation can offer.

America's stomach rumbled.

Several hours ago, they had all been in a G8 meeting being hosted in Japan. Mexico, Brazil, South Africa, India, and China were invited. It was long, dull, boring and basically the same as the world conferences they had every year – except with less people. England and France were trying to strangle each other, America was glaring daggers at Russia and vice versa, Italy was bothering Germany, Japan and Canada were being quiet, and the five invited nations were doodling on their papers with bored looks on their faces.

Somehow, during a non-existent discussion about their economies, China had managed to get most of the nations present to eat with him in a new five-star restaurant in Beijing. Brazil, South Africa, and India were the only ones who managed to evade his request by giving him a good reason: their bosses were pissed at them. Apparently, they were responsible for a particularly wild party in Brazil that ended up with the three nations arrested by the local police. Their bosses had to bail them out. All three were trying to get back on their bosses' good sides by doing extra work.

Now, one super-fast Japanese private jet later, they were all standing in front of a glamorous Chinese restaurant feeling hungry and underdressed – except for France.

"China," America exclaimed, "this is awesome! It smells even better than the food you usually bring during the meetings!"

China wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

"Let's just go in," Mexico mumbled. "I'm starving here."

"Yes, aru!" China practically shoved his fellow nations inside the restaurant. He told the little Chinese woman in front of his reservation and they were all led to a round table in the fourth floor overlooking the amazing city of Beijing lit by twinkling lights. It was like a sea of stars had crashed down on the area... along with thousands of people.

Beijing was very noisy.

Luckily, the restaurant had somewhat noise proof walls.

"Mm!" France took a deep breath. "The aromas rival even _my_ finest restaurants!"

China called for a waiter, who greeted them in Chinese and promptly gave each of them menus consisting of several pages of Chinese characters. America stared at the weird bunches of lines scattered all over the menu. He could not for the life of him understand how he was supposed to read it. _Is this Martian or something?_

"China," Canada asked timidly, "we don't know how to read these..." Her bear mumbled something under its breath. America wondered how the hell she managed to sneak in a bear into a five-star Chinese restaurant. Maybe it was her natural invisibility...

America looked back at China, who appeared dismayed. "Right..." He brightened. "I will order for you then, aru!" He spoke to the waiter in rapid Chinese, looking like Chinese New Year came around again. The waiter responded with equal vigour and walked off smartly.

"What did you order for us?" asked England.

"I want pasta, ve~" Italy chanted.

"No pasta," China chided. "We have noodles, aru."

"No!" he wailed. "Noodles! Evil pasta!"

The five minutes it took to receive their orders were spent Germany and Japan trying to calm down Italy, China trying to preach to Italy about noodles, Russia being creepy, Canada being invisible, and Mexico grumbling about rather eating tacos. America just sat there, staring out the window with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. His gut was telling him that something was going to happen... Something bad...

"Noodles were here before pasta, aru."

"No! Pasta is God's food, and God has been here since forever, ve~!"

"Shut up, you two," Mexico barked. "Tacos rule above all, end of discussion!"

China and Italy were about to object, but just then their waiter returned carrying the food China had ordered for them. The waiter set down identical plates of noodles in front of each nation before asking politely if they needed anything else. He walked away when China shook his head.

America held one silver chopstick in each hand, a puzzled look on his face. "Hey China... What're these stick thingies?"

The Chinese nation sighed and proceeded to show him how "the two stick thingies" were supposed to be used.

"No, you put the thumb _here,_ aru... You're doing it the improper way, aru..."

"Oi!"

Sealand came flying out of nowhere and tugged on England's sleeve. "Oi! Listen to me!"

England looked down at the micronation in surprise. "Sealand! When... How did you get here?"

"I stowed away." The boy waved a hand. "Anyway, I want to get invited to a meeting!"

"The meeting ended."

"Next time!"

"Get back to me when your economy shoots up – a lot."

Sealand started whining even more, causing other diners to look over in curiosity.

The other nations tried to ignore the upstart nation but Sealand had that weird ability that America used to have when he was still a colony –

"_Callate!*_" Mexico exploded. "_Callate!_" He pointed a quivering tanned finger at Sealand. "England, if the little _mocoso**_ says one more word, I swear I will shove a burrito down his throat and make him swim in a vat of salsa!"

Mexico sure had a temper...

Sealand looked offended. "Hey!"

The Mexican stood up. "I warned you." He snatched the little nation by the ear and dragged him away kicking and screaming.

Russia stared at England, who kept eating nonchalantly. "Are you not going to rescue your comrade?"

"No."

America, who had just ignored everything around him in favour of his food, managed to clutch some noodles into his chopsticks and was slowly bringing it up to his mouth... when it slipped back out. He resisted the urge to slam his hand on the table. He had a feeling China wouldn't appreciate that. Stupid sticks, now he was going to starve! "Dude! I want a fork!"

"No forks, aru," came the reply.

He let out a stream of curses, which prompted a certain former British pirate to glare at him disapprovingly.

"I can't eat like this," America whined.

"Well, you'll just have to make do," England snapped.

Their conversation was drawing looks from the other tables...

Japan daintily drank from a glass of water, caught sight of the reflective window beside her, and proceeded to choke.

"You okay, Japan?" America asked. This was probably the first time he had ever seen the always-composed Japan choke on something.

The Japanese nation was, for some reason, staring at the window in shock. Her face had gone white and her brown eyes - usually so hard to read - were showing clear signs of shock, horror and nausea.

"Hey?" America waved a hand in front of her. He was getting kind of worried; Japan looked like she just had a heart attack – and considering how old she was... "Japan? You okay? Not having a stroke or anything?"

"America-san," she managed, "look at the television."

"Hm? What about it?" He turned his head and immediately rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating (hey, it happened before – stupid England).

There, plastered all over the television screen, were the faces (and the hat) of ten nations seemingly taken from a distance – hey, that looked like it was taken in front of the restaurant...

"China!" he yelped. "TV. _Now._"

"What, aru?" China glanced at America, irritated. Then he glimpsed at the television from the corner of his eye and dropped his chopsticks as his head made a full one-eighty to its direction. "Aiya!"

"What is it?" France looked at where the three nations were staring and gasped in dismay. "_Mon Dieu!_"

The rest of the table swivelled their heads and watched the news reporters chatter excitedly as more and more restaurant patrons turned their attentions to the televisions scattered around the room. The nations couldn't understand what was being said, but the implications were there as a close-up of their group was revealed to the entire population of China.

"Translation, please," urged Japan.

"'_Are you sure about this, Ling?'_" China translated. "'_Yes, the proof is undeniable and it is recently confirmed that these are ten of the personifications of nations who attended the recent G8 meeting in Japan. It is unclear what personifications exactly are, or even what their purpose is, but the general idea is that each country has a being that represents the entire nation literally_..._'_" China trailed off.

"Keep going," England whispered.

"'_The sources claim that the blond one in a tweed suit is said to be the England – " _A zoomed-in picture of England was shown_. " – and the one walking beside him is France." _France replaced England._ "The silver-haired man is said to be Russia. The stocky blond and the brown-haired man walking beside him are Germany and Italy respectively...'_"

As the accurate descriptions continued, Germany plotted a way to get out of the restaurant without drawing attention.

Unfortunately for him, it was definitely impossible with every single person in the room gawking unashamedly at their table.

Finally, Russia grabbed an empty seat and effortlessly threw it at the offending piece of technology, startling many of the patrons. He then drew his ever-trusty pipe from his person, shattered the entire wall of glass and barked, "Move, comrades!"

And they all jumped through the window, cameras flashing behind them.

* * *

"Go, go, go!" China shrieked. He held the gates open as his fellow nations sprinted through the iron gates. A huge throng of Chinese people were right on their tails – and boy, there was nothing scarier than a screeching Chinese mob holding cameras and video recorders (to them, at least).

China, with help of Russia and America, managed to close the gates long enough for Germany to bolt it shut and wrap several meters of what looked to be silver chains with a big, black padlock around the columns of iron.

They backed away and observed the mob crowded outside China's gates.

"I didn't think they'd be like that if they found out," America commented.

"This is not good," China muttered. "Not good, aru."

"We should go inside," Italy said with fake cheeriness from behind Japan. "There might be pasta." He peeked at the crowd with fear-filled eyes and hid behind his friend again.

"Er, yes," England agreed. "We should go inside. It would be safer – um, safer to cook pasta in..." He looked bewildered for a moment. "Did I just say that...?"

As they all rapidly went inside to hide – um, make pasta, Italy sang about how great pasta was feebly. It was like he was being forced to sing it with a gun pointed at his head.

After what seemed like forever (but actually thirty seconds), they entered China's rather large house and barred themselves in the living room. They could still hear the crowd outside quite clearly.

"Where's the remote?" America asked. He turned over one of the couch cushions.

"I have it." France pressed the big green button (obviously the power button) and stared blankly at the screen of Chinese characters slowly moving up.

"Switch to an English channel," England ordered. "We all know English."

"Give it, aru." China stole the remote and switched to channel eight hundred. The dull blue was replaced with two British reporters talking animatedly to each other."

"_Oh yes, Frank,"_ said the woman. _"We already have one of our reporters stationed in Asia standing outside China's residence. It doesn't look like the nations are going to come out anytime soon. Their way of exiting the restaurant was rather impressive – jumping through a four-story window... Here is a clip of their escape recently posted on Youtube..."_

"Bollocks." He caught sight of Canada (surprisingly) calling someone on her phone. "Who are you calling?"

"My boss," she mumbled. She only needed to wait three seconds before someone picked up. "Hi... You heard? Why isn't anyone trying to cover this up? ... What do you – Why are they at _my_ house? How did they know? ... Okay, okay... Thanks." She hung up, sighing. "The media knows where we live."

"What?!" That was the general response.

"We cannot go back home even if we get out of here," Japan muttered to herself.

China was already dialing his boss's number. _"This is China... We need to get out of here – immediately... How the hell should I know? They all followed us here and somehow _their_ addresses were leaked to the media! ... Yes, the private jet... I still have that secret passageway in case of an invasion... Yes. Thank you."_ He turned to the others. "I have a plane ready to take all of you to your countries."

"The media knows where we live," Germany reminded him. "And all the government buildings will undoubtedly have more reporters outside too."

"Our bosses are already making arrangements for hideouts." China strode to his kitchen. "Come, I have a way to get us out."

He led them to his refrigerator and asked America to help push it aside. America was confused (and hungry, but that wasn't important), but he obliged.

America easily moved the fridge away from the wall. There, underneath where the fridge used to be, was a small, square door that looked like it hadn't been opened for decades.

"I had this built during World War II," China explained. "But before we leave, we need disguises."

France clapped his hands and grinned.

* * *

France glared at his gloved hands and scowled. "Ugly. Hideous. Simply unfashionable. Do you know how gaudy these gloves are?"

"Deal with it," China snapped. He was trying to get Japan to wear a wig. "You'd look good with longer hair, aru..."

"I am fine," she replied stiffly. She looked uncomfortable in the tight business suit he forced her to wear. "Ah..."

America fidgeted with his backpack, which was filled with random Chinese newspapers to make it look like it actually had something inside. He was all for filling it with hamburgers but apparently China didn't have any burger meat. "C'mon, you guys! The zombies are almost here!"

"There aren't any zombies." Canada was the only one who didn't need a disguise. She was, for once, thankful for her invisibility.

"They might as well be!" He pointed outside, where they could still make out the shouts. "They're like those zombies from Resident Evil: mean, hungry and badly dressed."

"I'm going to ignore that, aru..."

Russia tugged down the fedora that was supposed to hide his hair. "Are we quite ready yet?"

"Ve~ China has a great fashion sense!" Easy for Italy to say – he was wearing _normal_ clothes: a white shirt, jeans, and jacket.

"Let's go," Germany said gruffly. He opened the little door and started to climb down the ladder. It was a tight fit, and the heavy parka he was wearing didn't help. He had no idea why China even gave him a parka; it was summer and he was going to stick out like a thumb with the stupid parka. He knew he should've chosen the trench coat Russia was wearing; it was lighter, even if it did look like something that came straight out of a mafia movie.

Next was France. He refused to walk in public wearing what he was wearing. It took China telling him it was necessary, Canada persuading him that he didn't look too bad and England threatening to start another war to make him go down the hatch – and even then, they had to push him down.

Eventually they all entered the secret passageway. To put it bluntly, it was wet, drippy and smelled like the average Chinese sewer.

"This leads to one of the underground sewers near my house, aru," China explained. "It can be very confusing to anyone who doesn't know the layout, but it can get you to all sorts of places. We should reach the airport in an hour."

France almost died right then and there. "One hour... in the sewers... wearing _this._" He almost wished he was facing the media. At least he'd look and _smell_ good.

"Belt up, frog," England grumbled. "We're all miserable enough without having to listen to _you_ talk."

The rest of their sewer journey was mostly spent in silence, mainly because they were each lost in their own thoughts. (It had nothing to do with the pipe Russia raised every time one of them (mainly France) opened their mouths to complain. Nope, not at all.) Every now and then, Canada's polar bear (Kuma-something) would blare out random comments, but Russia let it slide, perhaps because he didn't notice.

At last, they came upon a manhole that was supposedly positioned near the back of the airport. Since the metal ladder was not only broken, but wet, America had to lift China up so he can twist off the cover. He pushed it aside and poked his head out of the opening. Not a single person was in sight.

"Let's go," he whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" America jumped and caught the edge of the manhole. He dragged himself up and held out a hand to England. "There's no one here."

China sighed.

When everyone was safely (and cleanly) at ground level, they blatantly broke down the back door and let themselves into what looked like a storage area. Why a storage area would need a door outside, they had no idea but they weren't about to question it.

Italy spotted a crate labeled "Damian's Pasta House" and was about to open it when Germany clamped a hand on his shoulder and shook his head disapprovingly.

"But Germany – "

"No."

China's phone rang. He listened to the voice for a minute before nodding and hanging up. "There is a plane ready for take-off, aru. Hangar thirteen."

* * *

Japan stared out at the clouds.

The private jet was very plush – maybe it was the Chinese government's way of apologizing for their predicament. The interior was like a sophisticated office lounge. There were several leather chairs bolted to the floor, each with their own mini television. A large plasma screen television was screwed in place to the walls and surrounded by three cream couches. A mini refrigerator sat in the corner, right under a screen showing their position above Asia.

The airport they had been in was empty. Not even a single security guard roamed the premises. They later found out that the airport workers had been trying to keep the media from entering the building. All the flights had been cancelled and the civilians that had a flight booked were swiftly ushered into their appropriate flights. The people who had been there to meet with the arrivals were promptly kicked out. Any and all planes scheduled for landing were forced to find another airport.

The Chinese government wasn't taking chances. How nice of them.

Now that they had taken off though, the flights were returning back to normal and people were allowed back into the building.

"Hey Japan!" She saw America waving her over. "Wanna play poker?" England, France, Russia, China and Canada were sitting with him on the couches. Germany and Italy were off... somewhere. (She shooed away her perverse thoughts; this was _not _the time.)

... Well, she didn't have anything better to do. Even if it was illegal (to some extent), no one would breathe a word to this to the human police.

Japan unbuckled her seat belt and went to sit beside only space available: beside Russia. She tried not to think about it. A pile of poker chips were already set up in her place. She threw her ante in the pot and waited.

"M'kay." America set up the table and dealt the cards. They were playing Texas hold 'em. Figures.

She peeked at her cards – an ace of hearts and a three of diamonds – and then at the three community cards – an ace of spades, a king of spades, and a queen of hearts.

The game continued like that for the rest of their flight to Japan (their first stop). Everyone seemed to be quite good at poker. When Germany and Italy appeared from the back of the plane, only Japan and America were playing, with the Westerner in the lead.

"What are you playing, ve~?"

"Texas hold 'em!" America replied happily.

"Ooh! Can I play?"

"Sure. We were just finishing up this game, anyway." America pushed all his chips in the pot. "All in."

Japan glanced at her cards, shrugged and called him on his probable bluff.

And that was how America managed to lower his debt to Japan.

America showed his four of a kind, which had beaten Japan's full house.

Germany and Italy sat beside America as he reshuffled the cards and Russia split the poker chips between nine nations.

Five minutes into their second game (because there was nothing else to do in the goddamn jet and none of them wanted to watch the news or be reminded of their current situation), it was clear Italy cannot keep a poker face.

"Oh," he said disappointedly while China hoarded the pot to his side.

Germany patted his friend's back. "You did... well."

"Ve..." He brightened. "I will be your cheerleader!"

And that was how Italy deepened Germany's debt to France.

"I'm sorry Germany," Italy mumbled.

"It's alright," he sighed. "France still owes me around a hundred billion anyway."

* * *

***Callate - Shut up**  
**** Mocoso - Brat**

* * *

**So anyway, this story actually has a plot, even if it seems like the usual secret-of-nations-revealed-fic. Reviews make me write faster~ (I'm not kidding; the stories that get the most reviews are usually at the top of my priority list.)**


	2. Their Doom

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. (If it was, it'd probably suck.)**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Their Doom  
(or the Press Conference for Aliens, Animals, Non-Humans, or Whatever the Hell They Were)**

* * *

America gaped at his boss. "What?"

The President of the United States rubbed his _oh-so throbbing_ forehead. "America – "

"But that's so boring!" he whined.

"This is a matter of international security!" the President snapped. "Who knows what might happen if some psycho maniac manages to get a hold of you?"

"I'm sure I can ward off Russia."

"You know what I mean!"

His shoulders slumped. "I totally understand the whole going into hiding thing, but no communication with the others? Really?"

"Your conversations might get tapped."

"The media won't go that far."

"Cue the psycho maniac." The President sighed. "Look, you'll have plenty of things to do in the bunker. You can bring all your video games with you – "

"Oh, why didn't you say so?" America grinned. "Alaska, here I come!" He ran out of the Oval Office, not noticing his boss give a silent thanks to God.

* * *

"Haha! Take that, Heartless bastards!"

America was lying down on one of the only beds in the bunker, playing on his brand new 3DS. As of now, he was somewhere under Alaska, but he didn't particularly care where he was as long as he didn't get bored. He hoped Tony had gotten his message; the last thing everyone needed was for the press to learn about the illegal alien he had been hiding in his basement. Ha, that sounded like a cliché movie plot...

His phone rang. He grinned and picked it up. "Estonia?"

"Reception has been established."

He laughed. "Thanks so much, dude!"

"My pleasure. Latvia, Lithuania, Ukraine, Russia and Belarus are already on."

A couple of years ago, Russia found a secret location to hide from Belarus. It only lasted for a month, but it was the most peaceful month he had ever had. Meanwhile, Belarus had gone on a rampage, threatening to murder the nation who "kidnapped" her brother. Needless to say, everyone was terrified of the Belarusian and also went into hiding, but not before receiving a special phone from Estonia so they could communicate with each other secretly and without Belarus's knowledge. Little known fact: she was one hell of a technician.

Now Estonia had reactivated their phones, with Russia and Belarus as their newest additions.

Of course, their bosses were completely unaware. Nation business was nation business.

America saved his game and thumbed the code for the secret connection: 1E2S6T1O9N2I1A

"_... Mr. America?"_

"Lithuania! Long time no see! Or talk, I guess."

"_... Ah, it seems America has joined us."_

"Don't be so enthusiastic, Commie."

"_Be polite, America," _said a new voice.

"England?"

"_Yes."_ America could almost picture him rolling his eyes.

"You're not actually defending Commie, are you?"

"_It seems he is."_ Russia sounded amused.

France's voice resounded from the speaker. _"What is who doing? Or should I ask _who_ is who doing?"_

"_Bloody frog..."_

"_Honhonhon~ Might I ask what you are all wear – "_

"Dude!"

Beware their vital regions, for France was laughing.

"_Hello?"_

America was relieved. Finally, someone normal! "Canada!"

"_Eh?"_

"_American bastard..."_

"Nice to see you too, Cuba."

"_We are talking through a phone."_

"You know what I mean."

An irritated sigh was heard followed by a couple of inhaling sounds.

"Cuba, are you smoking?"

"_None of your business,"_ came the blunt reply.

He rolled his eyes. "So, um, England. Where are you hiding?"

"_I'm staying with Scotland,"_ England snarled and then started cussing out his older brother.

"... Okay. What about you, Canada?"

"_Um, I think I'm in a cabin somewhere in the Great Bear Rainforest..."_

"Cool..."

"_What about you, Mr. America?"_ Lithuania asked.

"I'm in Alaska."

"_Someday, Alaska will become one with me again,"_ Russia promised.

_Crack!_ A stream of French curses drifted from the speakers.

"What the hell was that?" America squeaked. That sounded a lot like bones breaking.

"_I am deep in the Catacombs of Paris,"_ France grumbled. _"As much as I love my capital, I don't particularly enjoy camping underground surrounded by skulls."_

"_I'm sorry, Papa."_

"_It's not your fault, __ma chérie__.__"_

"_If you ask me, you deserve it."_

"_Ah, but no one asked you__, l'Angleterre!__"_

_Bleep!_

"_Ve~"_

"_THE AWESOME ME IS HERE!"_

"_Hola~"_

"_Tomato bastard..."_

"_Hello, aru."_

"_Da-ze~! Your breasts are mine!"_

"_All will become one with me, da?"_

"Shut up, Commie!"

"_Honhon..."_

"_Git! Stop laughing!"_

"_Like, everyone here is so noisy."_

"_Marry me, brother..."_

"_Ano..."_

"_QUIET!"_

America almost had a heart attack.

"_Ve~ Germany, is that you?"_

"_No. This is the President of the United States, and all of you are in _so much trouble._"_

"Oh... Boss..." America scratched his head. "How'd you get here?"

"_It is not just him,"_ said the Prime Minister of Japan.

"_All of you are to give up your communication devices immediately,"_ said the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

"They're called cell phones," Italy quipped.

"_We do not care what they are called,"_ the Premier of China said sternly. _"No communication."_

With that, the heads of their governments hung up. As soon as that happened, two men in black burst into America's bunker and held out their hands.

America sighed and said to the phone, "Well, bye guys. I've got my super awesome secret service asking for my phone." He turned it off and handed it to the taller guy.

The phone rang.

Bewildered, he snatched it back and answered, "Yeah?"

"_There will be a press conference for the nine whose identities were revealed,"_ his boss informed him. _"Two weeks from now."_

"Wait, what? Nine? There were ten of us!"

"_Mexico was not identified; his sombrero was in the way."_

"Lucky bastard!"

"_Uh, yes... And America, please don't say anything stupid. We cannot have government secrets leaking out to the media... And try to seem normal... The general population are already calling you aliens!"_

"Aliens?"

"_Yes."_

"... Awesome."

"_Not awesome,"_ his boss replied sharply. "A few outraged citizens are also comparing you to animals."

That stung. That really stung. America forced a smile and said, "Haha! Don't worry, boss!" He gave the secret service agents a thumbs-up (which confused them). "We've got it covered. We'll be so normal, they'll think we're even more boring than Austria!"

* * *

Japan fiddled with her sleeve and gazed at her companions. For all the pep talk and encouragements their bosses gave them, they were still fidgety and nervous.

The "press conference" was being held in New York. Even after two weeks, the media still hadn't cooled down.

(Aliens? Animals? Really, America-san, what happened to your people's common sense?)

"Japan." China waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you there, aru?"

"Konichiwa, China-san." Japan bowed to the elder nation.

"Are you nervous, aru?"

"... No."

"You're lying, aru. All of us are nervous. This is the first time we are going to reveal ourselves to the world at large, aru. Every citizen of every country in the world will be watching us on live television – something none of us had ever thought would actually happen, aru." His eyes grew dark. "Our lives... It will be changed forever, aru. When I find out who did this..." A stream of Chinese threats poured out of his mouth. His new boss looked over at him disapprovingly from where he was speaking with Russia's boss.

Japan laid a hand on his arm. "Calm. We will get through this. We may not have done anything like this before, but there is a first for everything." She gave him a meaningful look.

China blinked, then blushed. "Japan – "

"Are you guys ready?" America jumped in between them, totally ruining the moment. "Huh? Are you?"

His boss yelled, "Get back here!"

"Oops, gotta run!" He ran away.

China's eye twitched.

Japan just smiled.

* * *

"... have lived and served their countries for a long time," said the President of the United States. "So please give them the respect and privacy they deserve and..."

None of the people present came there to hear the President drone on – they want to interview the nations, dammit.

The room they were in was basically a big white space with some scattered chairs for the reporters. The one long table in front of the nations was covered with a simple white cloth and topped with each countries' flag in front of the appropriate nation.

There were also a lot of microphones on the table. As in, _a lot_ of microphones. There was barely enough space for their water.

Dear god, this was going to suck.

"... ask them only relevant questions. Thank you." The President stepped back and sat beside America.

Immediately, dozens of hands rose from the audience, pens poised above notepads.

America lazily pointed at a man in a black suit. "Yeah?"

So it begins.

Everything went smoothly for the first hour. The nations answered enquiries such as "How does your existence influence the running of a country?" and "Do relationships and family ties affect how the government of the countries work?" The nations presented themselves as wise, professional and normal (well, they were a bit eccentric, but that was to be expected). They had spent the two weeks of hiding preparing for every possible question the reporters might ask, and it was paying off.

Meaning: they managed to answer the questions without really answering the questions.

(America had way too much fun looking at his reporters' frustrated faces.)

There was one close call when England started hissing at his (imaginary) fairy friends and several reporters swung their heads to him, but his boss had the sense to discreetly elbow him into silence.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

A particularly nosy reporter asked, "What are your sexual orientations?"

England choked on his water.

France laughed suggestively.

Russia smiled creepily.

America wilted.

Italy smiled.

Germany shifted uncomfortably.

China twitched.

Canada tried to not get noticed.

Japan coughed.

No one answered for a minute.

The President prodded America and hissed, "Answer the damn question!"

"Um." America collected himself. "Um. Uh. I – I..."

"Why would you ask something like that?" England said disapprovingly.

The reporter shrugged. "This is for the tabloids."

"Damn tabloids..."

The President poked America again.

Finally, Italy jumped in with, "Ve~ I think most of us are bisexual!"

Cue face palms. Germany gritted his teeth.

The reporter, as well as everyone else in the room, looked surprised. "I-is that so?"

"Si. Gender doesn't matter to us much, ve."

A blonde journalist stood up. "Are any of you in a relationship?"

"That is personal," China said flatly.

"If my country starts dating another country, I think I'd like to know," a person from the audience quipped. "For one, I don't like the idea of America dating, maybe, Russia."

"What the hell?!" America yelled, standing up. The other nations were equally horrified (and just a little amused). "I'm not dating the Commie!"

"Da," Russia agreed, his smiling face faltering slightly. "America has permission to become one with me, but not in a romantic way. Perhaps his sister, da? And then we can rule the Arctic together and live in a warm place with sunflowers~!"

America laughed harshly. "Haha, that's funny, Russia! As if I didn't have nukes pointed at you right now..."

"Don't bring me into this," Canada muttered.

Italy squealed. "Ve~ Russia and Canada, that's so cute!"

"Italy..." America was frowning deeply now.

"But it's just like me and Germany! Ve, Germany, do you have a fever? You look red."

Germany hissed, "Quiet, Italy."

"Non," said France, who was grinning gleefully. This was too good. "Let him continue. Italy, what do you think about Denmark and Norway?"

"They're cute~! I heard they started dating a few weeks ago."

Japan was smiling. Italy should join her matchmakers' club. Or her yaoi club. "What about Poland and Lithuania?"

"They are made for each other, ve~! Kind of like Estonia and Latvia. Or America and England."

England squawked, "What?!"

"There is nothing going on between me and England!" America objected.

France giggled. "Please, the sexual tension is practically visible!"

"Frog!"

"But it's true! It's not only you and l'Amérique, l'Angleterre. The UST between many other countries are undeniable. Currently, le Chine et le Japon are working it out, hm?"

"Mind your own business, aru!"

"It's my job to spread l'amour~"

"Perverted – "

"Enough!" Germany's boss (who was just as scary as Germany himself) stood up and said, "This conference is over."

"Yay!" America jumped up and, upon seeing the resentful looks he was getting from the audience, said uncertainly, "Um, not yay?"

Russia's boss rose from his chair. "Let us go, Russia."

"Da." Russia got up and started following his boss...

... and then his heart fell out.

"Oh my god!" a female reporter shrieked.

"Someone call an ambulance"! another yelled.

"It's fine!" Russia boss called out.

"Da," Russia agreed. "It does that sometimes." He calmly picked up his heart from the floor and put it back where it belonged.

That just seemed to horrify the reporters even more.

"... Is that sanitary?" one managed to say.

"Da."

"... Oh..."

Nope, the reporters were still in shock.

The nations jumped at the opportunity and escaped the room with their bosses at their heels.

Finally, the reporters snapped out of their daze and chased after them, determined to get more answers (because, really, all their answers just left them with even more questions than before).

Thank god for security.

* * *

"Imbéciles," France's boss muttered. "What were you thinking?"

The nations were all standing in a line, looking down like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Except for Italy, who was being personally reprimanded by his own boss. (Poor Italy, he looked ready to cry.)

"I don't know about them," France sniffed, "but I was spreading l'amour – "

"Cut the crap, France," his boss sighed.

"You should have left it with Italy's bisexual announcement," England's boss added.

"What did we tell you?" Japan's boss said sternly. "Only answer either yes, no, or the very bare minimum. If one of the reporters asked something uncomfortable, what were you supposed to do?"

"Tell them it's confidential," they mumbled.

America carried on, "But that woman was all like, 'Me and Russia are dating!' I can't just say _nothing_ – "

"But you could have," his boss fumed.

As they continued their "You Could Have Done _This_" tirade, Italy's boss said to Italy, "You are no longer allowed to talk about other nations' love lives."

Italy withered. "Ve..."

* * *

**Note: Mentioned in that little noodle incident about Belarus's rampage, she's a great technician. I'd like to think so, since Belarus's main exports are heavy machinery. It may not be computers, but she has to know her machines – and that involves a deep understanding of technology. She's still not as good as Estonia though, with his electronic industries and all that.**

**Virtual cookies for anyone who guesses the video game America was playing during his stay in Alaska.  
More virtual cookies to anyone who guesses the significance of Estonia's code. It's just a little fact.**

**Happy Halloween!  
(Or, for me, Bonnes Fêtes d'Halloween!)**

******CHAPTER 3: Assault and Battery with a Dash of Coma (or the Axis Are in So Much Trouble Even Though It's Not Their Fault... Or Is it? Nah, It's Not Their Fault)**

******PS: Not going to be updating until December. See, there's this thing called NaNoWriMo... and this is probably the last (or second-last) story I'm updating until the end of November.  
So review, please~**


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